Blood of Dragons (38 page)

Day the 6th of the Plough Moon

Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

From Erek Dunwarrow, former Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown, presently residing in Trehaug

To Kerig Sweetwater, Master of the Bird Keepers' Guild, Bingtown

Master Sweetwater, I send this sealed missive by a bird released from my wife's own hand from her coop here in Trehaug. I write of a matter of great concern to all of us.

I trust you to remember that I was your apprentice once, and that from you I learned my standards of honesty and integrity. I am now married to Detozi Dunwarrow, long known as an excellent and honourable bird keeper here in Trehaug.

This day as I approached Detozi's coop to deliver her noon meal, I heard and then saw a bird in distress, a messenger bird tangled and hanging by his foot. I climbed out into the smaller branches of the pathway and was able to cut him free. Imagine my surprise to recognize a bird I had myself raised in Bingtown, one that was subsequently sent as an unmated male to the coops in Cassarick. Although he was unbanded, I assure you that I recognize this bird. In my care, he was known as Two-toes, and was unusual for hatching with a missing toe. Even more shocking was when I confirmed what I recalled from the red lice plague.
This bird had been listed as one of those that had perished in the Cassarick coops.

The message fastened to his leg was not in a Guild tube, the bird was badly fed and in poor health, and the careless manner of the fastening for the message tube was responsible for his becoming entangled.

I believe he was sent from Cassarick to Trehaug clandestinely, and only by happenstance have I intercepted him. Please do not suspect me of ill-doing; I have concealed the bird in my home until I can bring him back to full health. He deserves that at least. I have preserved the illegal message packet unopened. I beg you to tell me to whom I can entrust it here, for I fear to hand it over to the very villain who has constructed this deceit.

If you find fault at all with how I have handled this, I beg that all blame fall upon me and not Detozi. This is none of her doing, but only mine.

Erek Dunwarrow

Selden jerked awake to the pounding on the door. Shaking with alertness, he rolled from the divan to the floor and then, surprising himself, to his feet. He had no time to wonder if he was getting better or if his fear was overriding the weakness of his body. He heard the key turning in the lock.

‘Lady Chassim, we must enter, on the Duke's orders. He wishes the dragon-man brought to him immediately!' A man shouted harshly as the door swung open.

The lady herself strode from her bedchamber, an unfastened robe hastily thrown over her nightdress and a stone vase balanced over her head in her two hands. The set of her mouth said she would battle first and then find out why. Selden had taken to sleeping with a stick of kindling on the divan beside him. His was a feebler weapon than hers, but he gripped it tightly, intending to defend her to the death this time.

The two guardsmen fell back at the sight of her fury. ‘Lady, please, we are sorry to disturb you. Our orders are absolute. We must bring the dragon-man to the Duke. His need is dire and he cannot wait longer.'

Dizziness swooped through Selden's brain at those words and the stick of wood tumbled from his nerveless hand. Here was death, barging in the door in the middle of the night. ‘I am not ready,' he said, to himself rather than the guardsmen.

‘He is not!' Chassim snapped out her agreement. ‘Look at him. He coughs and spits gobs of yellow mucus. He has a fever and his piss is the colour of old tea. He is thin as an old horse and he shakes when he tries to stand. You will take this to the Duke? Sick as he is, you will take this diseased creature into his presence? Woe betide you when you are his death!'

The younger of the two guardsmen blanched at her words, but the grizzled older guard only shook his head. He looked haggard, as if sleep had long abandoned him. ‘Lady, you know well we are dead if we return without him. Disobeying the Duke's order will only ensure that we are tortured to death along with our families. Stand back, Lady Chassim. I have no desire to handle you roughly, but I will take the dragon-man now.'

Vase in hand, she stepped boldly between him and his abductors. She set her feet and Selden knew she would fight them. He staggered in a wobbly circle around her and into their arms before she realized what he was about. ‘Let us go quickly,' he told them. They seized him by the arms and as they hastened him out the door, he called over his shoulder, ‘For a few days of respite, may Sa bless you.'

‘Sa, the god that fucks itself,' the younger guardsman sneered.

The heavy vase landed with a crash on the floor just behind them. ‘You didn't lock her in?' the older man exclaimed in horror, but there came the sound of a slamming door. ‘Run back and lock it,' the guard told his junior in disgust. He kept his grip on Selden's upper arm and half-dragged him until the youngster caught up with them to seize Selden's other arm.

‘You sick like she said you are? Are we going to catch your disease?'

The younger guard huffed as he spoke, hurrying to keep up with the older one. His grip was not as tight as the older man's; plainly he didn't even want to touch Selden's scaled arm. In response, Selden went off into one of his coughing fits. Over and over, the air was squeezed from his lungs and he struggled to take in each shallow breath.
Be calm
, he told himself.
Be calm.
He had discovered it was the only way to recover his breathing. He closed his eyes, went limp and made them drag him as he put all his focus into trying to get breath back into his body.
Why?
he asked himself.
Why not die on the way and thwart the Duke?

But breathe he did, if shallowly, on the long haul that continued down several flights of stairs and then through an endless dim corridor. Lanterns in alcoves burned with low flames, and a short train of servants bearing armloads of bloodied sheets and basins met them and streamed past them in a nightmarish parade.

‘How can he lose so much blood and still live?' the younger guard asked.

‘Shut up! Someone hears you, that can be called treason,' the other barked.

They marched on in silence. At the end of that hall, they handed Selden over to two servants in spotless white robes. They escorted him, just as urgently, through grandly carved doors into an antechamber where two servants garbed in pale green seized him without comment. Another set of impressive doors, and he entered the Duke's lavish bedchamber.

A death chamber
, he thought, for the smell of death permeated the room. The heavy drapes of the bed had been roped back and lamps burned everywhere. Incense burned as well, and Selden lowered his face, trying not to breathe the smoke that would choke him. The basket of bloody cloths by the grand bed smelled of rot, the red stains streaked with brown and black. The circle of healers around his bed looked terrified, as did the guards who stood watch behind them. At the end of the bed, his hands clasped behind him, stood Chancellor Ellik. He was elaborately and carefully attired, as if he had readied himself for a special occasion. Did he hope to proclaim the Duke's death tonight?

The Duke himself sprawled on his back, his head thrown back, his mouth open wide. He pulled in breaths and pushed them out with a sound like a bellows. Selden thought him unconscious until the bony head on the ropy neck turned toward him. The man's pale-blue eyes were framed in pools of red. ‘Laggards!' he croaked. His withered lips trembled as if he wished to utter a thousand curses. Then they firmed and he said only, ‘The blood!'

They dragged Selden forward and one healer brought out a gleaming knife while others set a small table, a white cloth and a polished silver basin ready. He fell to his knees, but they paid no more attention to him than if he were a chicken being prepared for the pot. His left hand was seized and drawn forward, and when his wrist was over the basin, the healer cut him with a deft and practised flick of his knife. His blood, thin and bright red, ran freely. Selden watched dully as his life poured out of his body and into the bowl. It fell in spatters and then a tiny stream. The gathered healers watched it puddle and then pool in the basin.

‘Enough!' one cried suddenly, and with an expert wrap and a tight twist, a white cloth bound Selden's wrist. An assistant darted forward to seize his hand and hold it up over his head. Selden sagged helplessly in their grip. He longed to be taken away, to not witness any of this, but they held him there. Through stunned eyes he watched them pour his blood into a crystal goblet. No less than four healers assisted in the lifting of the Duke's head, while two held the goblet to his lips. Another one bade him, ‘Sip slowly, my lord.'

Breathe it in and choke on it
, Selden thought. But he did not. The Duke sipped his blood and then, gaining strength, lifted his own head and drank it. In horror, Selden watched colour come back into the man's face. His tongue, greyish, lapped at the last scarlet drops in the glass. He drew in a deeper breath. Then he tried to sit up. He could not manage it but there was unmistakably new strength in his voice as he commanded, ‘Bring him here! Directly to me!'

They dragged Selden to the bedside on his knees. One of the attendants forcibly bent his head down before the Duke while another snatched the cloth from his wrist. His face was pressed hard against the bedding. Selden struggled to draw breath, but no one cared. Someone grasped his arm firmly and twisted his wrist toward the Duke.

He felt the cracked lips brush his wrist in an obscene caress. The Duke's tongue was warm and wet as it probed for his wound, leaving chill slime as its track on his arm. Selden gave a low moan of disgust as the old man's mouth latched onto his wrist and suckled at his blood.

After a short time, he felt the Duke's claw-like hands fasten their own grip on his arm. The sucking grew stronger and an ache extended from his wrist to the inside of his elbow and then up his arm. When it reached his armpit he thought he would faint with the pain. The world was spinning and the distant cries of amazement and joy that reached his ears mocked his death.

Ellik watched in repugnance as the Duke suckled at the freak's arm.
Coward. What battle could not do, disease has done. It has made him a coward, and he will perform any act, no matter how demeaning, to hold death at bay.
Long practice kept his thoughts hidden. To any onlooker, he watched with concerned eyes as his beloved duke tried once more to snatch life from the jaws of death.

The Duke breathed through his nose as he sucked the blood, a panting breath that took on the same rhythm as coitus. The Chancellor looked aside from the revolting display, expecting that at any moment the Duke would breathe his last. But as the slow moments dragged by and the breathing became stronger, he looked back at the man. Horror blossomed in him. Thin he still was, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks now. His eyes were half-opened as if in pleasure, and they were brighter than Ellik had seen them in months.

‘My lord. My lord, may it not displease you that I speak, but if you wish to preserve this creature's life so that you may have a later treatment of his blood, you must stop now.'

The healer who gripped the dragon-man's wrist spoke in a timorous voice. His thumb was on the creature's pulse. The Duke paid no heed. The healer shot a frightened glance at the older man who grasped the dragon-man's forearm. Now Ellik noticed that he, too, kept a monitoring thumb on the pulse point inside the creature's elbow. He met the younger man's stare, gave his head a tiny shake, and pressed down. The Duke sucked harder for three breaths and then abruptly lifted his head. His voice was stronger, thick with his drink as he demanded, ‘Has he died? The blood has stopped!'

‘No, my duke, he is not dead, but he flutters close to it.' The healer spoke in a gentle voice full of deference. ‘Would you finish him now, or send him back to be fed up again for a later treatment?'

Greed and caution warred in the Duke's face. Abruptly, he pushed the thin wrist away from his mouth. ‘Take him away. Bid my daughter feed my fine blue cow fat again. Whatever Lady Chassim desires for him, she may have! See that she does all she can to bring him to where he can be bled again. Tell her this is my most ardent wish for her, if she would retain the goodwill of her duke.'

‘My lord,' the healers chorused. Ellik saw concern in how quickly they bandaged the creature's wrist. Before they wrapped it, he glimpsed the deep purple bruising all around the wound. The Duke's teeth had left deep dents in the flesh.

‘I will eat now,' the Duke declared.

As he leaned back into his pillows with a deep sigh of contentment, the room around him erupted into a frantic bustle of activity. A basket of clean cloths appeared as the used ones were whisked way. Fresh bedclothes were brought, and the servants deftly folded away the soiled ones as the new ones were spread over him so that not even for a moment was he chilled. An array of musicians bearing their instruments trooped in and stood ready against the wall in case he should bid them to play. A narrow table was carried into the room, followed by an ant stream of servants bearing trays of all manner of food and drink. Water beaded on the outside of pitchers of iced wine while other pots steamed fragrantly with hot, mulled drinks. Covered platters stood shoulder to shoulder with steaming tureens. The array would have done credit to a banquet and once again Ellik wondered where the hardy warrior he had once followed had gone.

The Chancellor cleared his throat and the Duke's eyes turned to him. He waited, watching the Duke count and measure the words he would give him, and knew he was on the cusp of losing all he had gained. ‘Your gift has pleased me,' the old man said at last.